Underdogs Wednesdays
by Becks Rylynn
Summary: A collection of ficlets about the pairing of Dean Winchester and Laurel Lance, a new favourite pairing of mine. New material will be posted every Wednesday night after Arrow.
1. Headcanon Ficlet 1

_AN: I started shipping Dean/Laurel when I realized how remarkably similair their characters are, what with the guilt and the substance abuse and the hearts of gold. The fact that they're played by Jensen Ackles and Katie Cassidy helps (Dean/Ruby 1.0 is one of my SPN OTPs) so it was probably bound to happen anyway. I started a few fics for them and then, a couple weeks ago, I started this collection._

_I started Underdogs Wednesday (''underdogs'' being my ship name for Laurel/Dean) in order to cancel out the gross level of hate Laurel gets and the disappointing level of hate Dean gets in their respective fandoms and it turned into something that actually makes Wednesday nights fun again._

_Here you will find mini-fics about Dean Winchester and Laurel Lance getting All the Nice Things. ...Since their shows refuse to give them any sort of happiness or plotlines ever. Meta, headcanons and other non fic things are also a part of this collection but anything that isn't fic will be posted on my AO3 and my LJ since this is a fic only space._

_First prompt plucked from the imagineyourotp tumblr._

**Disclaimer: **I own none of the characters you recognize.

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**Underdogs Wednesdays**

_Written by Becks Rylynn_

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_Imagine person A of your OTP taking care of person B while person B is sick or injured._

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Laurel's on the couch tonight.

Maybe it's because she has a DVR full of quality television and some trashy reality shows - don't judge her, you watch shitty shows too, everyone does; don't lie, you're a secret Keeping Up with the Kardasians fan, aren't you? - that she never has time to watch. Maybe it's because she was too tired to even drag herself to bed after a hellish day at work. Maybe it's just because it's pouring rain tonight and she likes the sound of the rain. Or maybe it's because their bed - the one that Dean so painstakingly picked out with an almost disturbing amount of intensity, mumbling under his breath, over and over, _this is just like Sophie's Choice_, to which her response was, _I really don't think it is, sweetie, but you're cute _- feels cold, empty and lonely without him.

We'll just never know.

Whatever the reason, when Dean is away on a hunt, she often ''accidentally'' falls asleep on the couch. She's not waiting. She's just...being prepared. And it's not like he doesn't pace by the window every night Black Canary goes out on patrol with Oli - sorry, The Arrow, and he can't come. (Spoiler alert: The Arrow is Oliver. Did everyone know The Arrow was Ollie? She almost bashed his head right in when she unmasked him, the lying prick.)

She's on the couch, paying very little attention to the episode of Scandal playing, half asleep, wearing one of Dean's plaid flannel shirts over her tank top and shorts, and then there's a sickening sort of thud from just outside the front door and she springs up, on her feet and racing over to throw open the door, suddenly wide awake. Naturally, considering this is her life, it's Dean. Of course. Lying in a heap, all clawed to hell from some beast or another, probably concussed and soaking wet from the rain. He's got his keys out, like he was trying to get inside when he passed out, and his breathing is disturbingly, terrifyingly ragged. He's not even breathing, really. He's wheezing. He does wake up while she's dragging his dead weight into the apartment, just long enough to slur out something along the lines of, _no hospitals, please, Laurel, please, no hospitals. _Because this is the stubborn asshole she's going to spend the rest of her life with. Oh, man.

Hey, at least he's not some rich dude who runs around in green leather pants and face paint shooting bad guys full of arrows, though, right? So. Step up.

And she's panicking. No duh, she's panicking. Because her significant other is bleeding out and mumbling incoherently on the floor. Also, it's not like this is a normal occurrence. They've been together for awhile now and she can honestly say that nope, he's never come home half dead before! And she is a human being, so yes. There is panicking. Plus, she admits that she's a crier - shut up, there's nothing wrong with being emotional - so there's crying panicking. And hell yeah, she thinks he's a goddamn moron because what the fuck, dude's bleeding all over her carpet and he knows that thing was expensive and it ties the room together, okay?

But she is still Laurel fucking Lance. So she gets shit done. She smacks him awake, heaves him into the bathroom, and dries him off. He's half conscious, whispering apologies and curling one arm around his abdomen. _It's not even that bad, Laur, _he's trying to tell her, _don't cry, please don't cry_. She snorts, rolls her eyes, and says, _like I would cry for you_, cutting away his clothes with precision. She stitches him up carefully, slowly, pretending she doesn't fumble with the extensive first aid kit he put under the sink, and she does it all while he's incoherent and keeps nodding off. He is all clawed up and bloodstained, shaking from blood loss, feverish and sweaty, and his fingers are digging into her hips painfully, forehead pressed against her shoulder. But her hands only shake a little while she does it, and she doesn't cry, even though she feels like she might.

This is not the first time she has stitched someone's wounds up in a non-hospital setting without pain medication. After a nasty showdown with Sebastian Blood, she sat in Team Arrow's disconcerting little lair and stitched her way up Oliver's right side while Felicity was panicking over the comms about Diggle maybe needing surgery for internal bleeding and Dean was fitting Roy Harper with a sling, muttering about how _this is literally the most ridiculous thing I have ever been a part of and one time, there was a giant teddy bear - hey, honey, have I told you about the giant teddy bear yet? That's a - well, it's not a good story, but it's a story._

(_Eyes on me, Captain America,_ Roy had sneered out through teeth gritted in pain. _You're supposed to be fixing my arm, not flirting. _And Dean had poked a bruise on the kid's ribs and tossed him a shit eating grin after Roy had shrieked loudly.)

The difference is that this is Dean.

Despite the green leather, she has never thought of Oliver as indestructible. She knows too much to ever believe that. Dean, on the other hand, has always seemed more intact to her. More capable, to be honest. Which sounds horrible and she recognizes that. She doesn't think he's more competent than Ollie, not exactly. Just more experienced. It's why she helps Oliver fight crime and agrees to stay away from hunting. Maybe the biggest difference is that Dean has never let her down. He has never left her like the rest of them have, and for a long time, she has foolishly allowed herself to believe that he never will.

The blood spilled on her bathroom floor, red against white, reminds her that one day he could.

She is actually very skilled with doing stitches. Diggle told her that once. She has quick and nimble fingers. She does them so well, so finely, that it barely even scars. _Would've been a great medic_, he said. She never told anyone that she had seriously thought about med school once, had even thought about what schools she was going to apply to, only to realize when her father came home with a bullet wound in his shoulder, that she can only deal with blood to a point. She holds it together quite nicely while she's fixing Dean up, doing her best to think of only the task at hand and not how fast and loud her heartbeat is in her ears, or his pained intake of breath when she threads the needle through his skin.

It is only afterwards, while he is resting in bed, bruised and bloodstained but alive, curled under the covers in his boxers, still shaking and feverish, but healing, that she allows herself to break. She locks herself in the bathroom and cleans up the blood on the floors and the sink and smeared on the wall, before scrubbing at the blood on her hands until her skin is raw. She doesn't have a panic attack. She doesn't cry. She doesn't throw up or shake uncontrollably. She just sits on the edge of the bathtub and thinks about how _this is not what she signed up for._ Having his blood on her hands, feeling that amount of terror, loving him that deeply that his blood traumatizes her. She didn't plan for any of this. She didn't plan for him. She never planned for him.

It's a weak moment. One where she wonders if this is even worth it. Because - _fuck. _This is hard. This is really hard. And it's always going to be like this. That's the part that gets her. It will always be like this, with the blood and the fear and the pain. They're never going to have an easy relationship. One of their lives will always be in danger. Every week is something new with them. Is this what she really wants?

She shelves the thought for the night, pulls herself together, and sits by his side all night long, carding her fingers through his hair and checking to make sure he hasn't left her yet.

The next morning, when he wakes up, groggy and hurting but in strangely good spirits, he tells her about the five year old boy that he saved from a wendigo with an odd sort of light in his eyes, not happy but proud, hands flailing dramatically as he tells the story, she'll realize that yes, it will be hard, harder than any of her other relationships, but so, so incredibly worth it. And she'll tell him that, too. That it's worth it. No matter what.

Six months later, she'll be strung up in a dirty warehouse in The Glades and this week's bad guy will decide that bloodletting is an appropriate form of torture for _Starling City's Black Canary, gotta make sure you can't fly away, right? _There will be several cuts and a growing pool of blood on the floor before The Arrow (he's trying to get Green Arrow to catch on, but the newscasters are stubborn and he's hesitant about letting Felicity send a letter to the news station asking them to call him Green Arrow) literally swoops down in his green leather and brand new mask, flinging enough arrows to divert their attention, allowing Dean and Sam to rush over and cut her down. And not long after, when Dean is bursting into the emergency room of Starling City General with her limp body in his arms and her blood on his hands, he'll have to remember what she said to him that morning, when she kissed him on the side of the mouth before re-dressing the wound on his right shoulder.

_Nothing about our relationship will ever be easy, but I think it's worth it. I think we're worth it. Don't you?_

**end**


	2. Jayverse 1

_AN: Okay, so I am super excited for tonight's Underdogs Wednesday because tonight is the debut of the Jayverse! (That makes the Jayverse sound way cooler than it actually is, btw.) What is the Jayverse, you ask?_

_Well, the Jayverse is an alternate universe in which Dean/Laurel are married and have a son named Jay (short for Josh). Ficlets for this 'verse will be popping up frequently for Underdogs Wednesdays. It will include Dean being inserted into Arrow season one and Laurel being inserted into SPN season eight (technically, because of the time jumps, Arrow season one would be taking place at the same time as SPN season seven, but I'm fudging the timeline a bit with this - including how long Dean was in Purgatory for) and it will also feature flashbacks of Dean and Laurel's life together before present day, including the pregnancy and birth of their son._

_I feel kind of bad because this first ficlet doesn't even have Dean in it, but this is the one that just came out. I think it's a good introductory ficlet. I promise, the next Jayverse will have Dean in it. Also, just a bit of additional information: this mini fic takes place during 1x02 of Arrow and some of the dialogue between Oliver and Laurel is taken directly from that episode._

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**Underdogs Wednesdays**

_Written by Becks Rylynn_

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**Jayverse #1**

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_unless someone like you  
__cares a whole awful lot,  
__nothing is going to get better.  
__it's not._

**- dr. seuss | the lorax**

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Laurel stifles a yawn as she bends down to pick up a toy fire truck from the ground, tucking it under her arm along with a stuffed bear and a puzzle box. Her apartment is a disaster zone. There are toys strewn about, crayons littered on the floor, the table is covered in children's books and coloring books, and there is a stain on the couch cushion from spilled grape juice. The kitchen isn't any better; breakfast dishes still in the sink, half a bowl of cold chicken noodle soup on the counter along with the remains of her hastily scarfed down lean cuisine dinner, and there are wads of purple stained paper towels from the aforementioned grape juice spill. The worst part is her bedroom. There are two overflowing hampers of two weeks' worth of dirty clothes, a laundry basket of clean sheets waiting to be folded, heaps of unopened mail on her desk, shoes all over the place, various cold medicines on her bedside table, and handfuls of toys in random places because Jay has been sleeping in her bed with her ever since he got sick.

But Jay is finally asleep, the apartment is finally quiet, and it may be a small victory, but it's enough for now. The mess comes with the territory, but the silence is a gift.

She makes quick work of the living room, depositing the toys into the toy chest by the window and sorting the books into a pile on the coffee table. She opts to flip the couch cushion over instead of wasting half an hour of her life fruitlessly scrubbing at a stain that won't come out. She moves into the kitchen, sighing heavily at the mess that awaits her. The time on the microwave says it's 9:18. God, it's not even nine thirty and she feels dead on her feet. Not that that's anything new or surprising, really. She gets to work clearing the counters and scrubbing them down and allows her mind to wander as she completes the tawdry task. A messy home is par for the course with a toddler in the house, and her neatness pretty much went out the window when Jay was born, but today was worse than usual. It usually is when Jay is sick.

This one time, when Jay was about a year old, he got a nasty ear infection and when she couldn't afford to take a day off, his dad offered to stay home for the day. And when Laurel got home, exhausted after a brutal day, she walked into an apartment that looked like a tornado had hit it. Her husband was in the living room, The Wiggles muted on the television, in his sweats, bouncing a screaming baby and desperately trying to convince the boy that everything was going to be okay. Despite the dark circles under his eyes and the fact that he looked like he was about thirty seconds away from bursting into tears just out of pure frustration, as soon as he saw her, he pointed a finger at her and said, ''Laurel, don't you dare try to clean up.'' She had protested, taking Jay out of his arms, but he was resolute, telling her, ''You should relax. Have a glass of wine, take a bath, finish that book you've been babbling about - ''

''I have not been... I don't _babble_.''

''Just don't worry about the mess, sweetheart. I've got it under control.''

And then he all but _locked_ her in the bathroom. When she came out, after reluctantly relaxing into a bubble bath, the living room was spotless, he was sitting on the couch with Jay fast asleep on his chest, and her favourite Thai food had been ordered.

That was just...what he did. It was who he was. He was always doing things like that; taking someone else's burden even if his shoulders were buckling under the weight of his own. He_ loved _to dote on his family. And he was damn good at it, too.

Laurel swallows hard and looks down at her wedding ring. She supposes those days are over.

Just as she is dunking the dirty dishes into a sink full of soapy water, there is a knock on the door. She curses under her breath, grabbing a dish towel to dry her hands and hurrying towards the front door. She hesitates before she answers it, looking down at her ripped jeans and the old stained Pink Floyd t-shirt of his that she had claimed while she was pregnant. She's sure her hair must look like a rat's nest from Jay's little fingers grabbing and twirling it like he always does when he wants cuddles. But she figures it's probably her dad or Tommy coming to check on her and they've both seen her way worse, so she sucks it up and opens the door.

Yep.

Should've checked the peephole.

It is not Tommy and it is most certainly _not_ her father.

''Oliver.''

There's a flash of annoyance at the sight of him, because didn't he just tell her to stay away from him? This is quickly followed by mild embarrassment due to her current state of dress and then an overwhelming burst of panic that sends her heart racing. ''What... What are you doing here?''

''I...'' Oliver pauses, frowning as if he hadn't thought of what to say if she asked that question. Seems like awfully poor planning on his part.

''Ollie,'' she prompts, and tries not to let her exhaustion show.

It doesn't work, apparently, because all of a sudden his anxiety shifts into concern and he inches closer to her. ''Are you okay?''

He sounds so..._genuine. _Definitely different from five years ago. She resists the urge to sigh. Honestly, she is not completely sure what to do with this new Oliver. ''I'm tired,'' she snaps, perhaps a little harsher than intended. There's a rustling noise from down the hall, in the direction of her bedroom where Jay is sleeping. Her heart thuds in her chest and she slides her eyes to the side, gripping the door. Crap. Crap, crap, crap. ''What do you want?'' She asks, pressing her lips into a thin line.

Oliver takes in a breath. ''My sister took - well, she - ''

Laurel raises her eyebrows.

''She pointed out to me that I have been distant since I got back,'' he says. ''And that...'' He stops again, mouth open, a faraway look in his eyes. ''It would probably be a good idea if I let someone in.''

For a second, her panic at Oliver being here is replaced by the old bitterness that always accompanies her memory of him. ''So you thought you'd start with the first person you pushed away.'' As soon as she says it, she regrets it. Not because of the guilty look in his eyes but because she had been so sure she was past this. Past _him_. She still misses her sister, especially in those moments where Jay will say or do something that reminds her of Sara, but she has new hurt these days. New pain. New anger. She doesn't have the time or the room for grudges. She has a child to raise. Plus, what does she care that Oliver Queen pushed her away? As cruel as it sounds, he doesn't exactly rank high on her list of priorities.

''I did that to protect you,'' Oliver says quickly, offering her a fleeting, sheepish smile. ''And then I saw you yesterday and I realized I hurt you.''

''Ollie,'' she shakes her head and licks her lips slowly, trying to figure out a way to gently break it to him that she doesn't have the time to care that much about what he thinks or her or the things he says to her when he is deliberately trying to get her to hate him. Eventually she scraps that idea and goes for polite. ''You didn't have to - ''

He produces a carton of ice cream from the paper bag with a flourish. ''I brought ice cream.'' He looks down at the carton of ice cream. ''I thought about many things on the island. But... There was one thing that I thought about every day.'' He lets out a small huff of embarrassed laughter, which sounds odd coming from him considering back when she knew him he had no shame about...anything, really. ''I actually dreamed about it. And I promised myself that if I ever got a chance to do it again, I'd do it with you.'' He holds up the ice cream, no doubt trying to entice her into letting him inside. ''Eat ice cream.''

She smiles weakly at the boyish smile on his face. She still doesn't let him in. ''That's sweet,'' she says, tilting her head to the side. ''And very clever. But I have a million things to do and to be totally honest,'' she grimaces, nodding at the carton. ''I'm not much of a mint chocolate chip girl anymore.''

''What are you talking about? It's your favourite.''

''It _was_ my favourite,'' she corrects. ''But when I was pr - '' She cuts herself off, clearing her throat loudly and tugging at her ear nervously. ''Um, a few years ago... A few years ago, I went through this phase where it was all I wanted to eat...for...for some reason, and it kind of backfired.'' She chuckles under her breath. ''Turns out, once you've had it come back up, it becomes hard to stomach the stuff. These days, I'm more of a rocky road girl. It's just...'' She drops her gaze, grip on the door loosening. She lets go, but hides her left hand behind her back and hopes he won't notice. ''One of those things, you know.'' She lifts her eyes just enough to meet his. ''Tastes change,'' she whispers.

Oliver looks crestfallen. For about a second. Less than. He covers it with a soft smile, one that looks sad and regretful, but understanding. Again: She really has no idea what to do with this new Oliver. There's something incredibly gentle about him, in ways he wasn't before, but there's also something deeply disturbing and dangerous lurking under the surface. She does have some experience with this sort of thing, what with being married to a guy who was not only a sweet, attentive dorky dad but also an addict with severe PTSD and depression and some possibly serial killer-like tendencies. So. There's that.

However, Laurel recognizes that Oliver Queen is not any of her business. There are more important things.

''Right,'' he nods. ''You're right,'' he shuts his eyes briefly and lets out a breath. ''I'm sorry. I didn't think. You're - ''

The sound of a crash from her bedroom cuts him off.

Her eyes widen and she clenches her teeth, panic blooming. She is fairly certain that he should be able to see her heart beating out of her chest by now. In retrospect, she doesn't really know why she is working so hard to keep this a secret from him. It's not like she's guilty for moving on. She _was. _For a long time, she was guilty about moving on, about being so happy and content in her life when her sister was dead and the Queen family was falling apart. She was terrific at feeling guilty. Guilt and anger and grief... That's how she and her husband met. But then she had a baby and things just...changed. This is her life. She can't keep it a secret forever.

Honestly, there's just a part of her that is afraid Oliver will be a dick about it, like maybe he would have been five years ago. Or like her father was when she announced she was pregnant and he accused her of ''ruining her life.'' Or like Tommy was when she started seeing a - oh, what tasteful way did he put it? ''A surly bowlegged douchebag with issues and a closet full of flannel - seriously, would it kill the man to own one John Varvatos shirt - who can't provide for you, and also, he's way too old for you, okay? He was nine when you were born. _Nine. _That's almost ten. Which is a decade. And I think he has a wonky eye. And he's a huge jackass. Has your father run a background check yet? Because he looks like a criminal. And you're _Laurel Lance_. You deserve better. Come on. Really? This guy? _This guy_?''

And that is just _so_ not something she needs in her life right now.

Oliver's reaction to the noise is unexpected. To say the least. His entire body goes ramrod straight and his eyes completely close off, jaw clenching, lips pressing into a thin, tight line. It's not a familiar look. Not on him, anyway. ''Laurel,'' even his voice is different, a tight warning. He steps forward into her personal space without her permission, hands moving to her shoulders. ''Someone's here.''

''Oliver. No, Ollie. It's - ''

He steps over the threshold, moving her body out of the way carefully and with ease, practically lifting her off the ground. He steps in front of her just as the bedroom door creaks open. She moves to grasp his arm and pull him out of the apartment, but it's already too late. Oliver has stopped short and is staring, wide eyed, jaw hanging open, at the little boy in the bedroom doorway.

Jay is standing there, sleepy and sniffly and hiding half his face behind his blanket, staring very intently at Oliver with the uncovered eye. Most likely because Oliver is staring at him and Jay has always been a weirdly intense kid when it comes to staring contests. ''Oh,'' Laurel breathes out. ''Jay.'' She places herself in between the boys easily, but Oliver is still staring over her shoulder. ''Jay,'' she tries again. ''Jay, honey.'' Nothing. ''_Josh_.''

Jay looks up.

''What are you doing out of bed?''

He shrugs and puts his blanket over his head.

''I - I thought you were asleep.''

''I woke up,'' he says simply. He removes the blanket from over his head and scampers over to her, smashing his face into her leg. ''And you weren't there. And then I hearded voices. And then the lamp fell.'' He looks up at her innocently. ''All by itself. I didn't do it.'' He peers around her, up at Oliver and frowns curiously. ''You're the man from the TV.''

Laurel holds her breath.

''I... Yes,'' Oliver rasps. ''I am. And you...'' He looks from Jay to Laurel, and then back to Jay. He makes a valiant attempt at a bright smile. ''You look just like your mom.''

Jay nods seriously. ''Daddy says that, but Mommy says I have Daddy's eyes.'' His little fingers tug at Laurel's shirt. ''Grandpa says I look like my Auntie Sara.''

Laurel closes her eyes, only partly because of the stricken look on Oliver's face.

''The lady - The lady on the TV said that y-you came back from the dead,'' Jay says, and then proceeds to wipe his nose on his mother's pant leg. He pulls away and clutches his blanket to his chest, coughing into it.

Laurel feels her heart sink to the pit of her stomach. Oliver's mouth is working soundlessly, obviously trying - and subsequently failing - to come up with something to say. She takes pity on the poor, flabbergasted guy and lifts her son into her arms, settling him on her hip and pressing a quick kiss to the side of his head. ''Jay,'' she murmurs against his skin, ''baby - ''

''No, but,'' his voice drops down to a near whisper. ''I-It's okay, Mommy.'' He leans in to whisper in her ear, her shirt clenched in his closed fist. ''It's okay 'cause...'cause if he can come back from the dead then maybe - ''

''Josh,'' she cuts him off with a heavy sigh of his name and he falls silent. He looks tired, still pale from the fever that only just broke a few hours ago, and smelling faintly of sweat and cough syrup. She holds him tight, smoothing sandy brown hair away from his forehead. She isn't at all sure what to say to him. What can she say? ''It's bedtime, honey,'' is all she's able to force out. She sends a quick smile in Oliver's direction - at least she hopes it's something that could pass for a smile - and mumbles an apology and a quick excuse to make a hasty retreat, leaving him alone in her apartment, probably still gobsmacked.

She doesn't mean to be rude - which, well, she kinda figures hiding from a guest is rude - but she needs to get away from him right now. There are tears pooling in the corners of her eyes and she needs a minute to compose herself before she faces him and the inevitable questions. She inhales and exhales until the tears recede and pastes a bright smile on her face as she tucks Jay back into her big empty bed, kissing his forehead and promising that she won't be long. He tries to protest, of course, telling her that he wants to talk to the man from the TV, but she does eventually get him to stay in the room, after promising to read him The Lorax for the fifth time today.

When she finally makes her way back into the living room, she's surprised to see Oliver still waiting. She had half expected him to bolt as soon as he saw Jay. He's never been a bad person, but he was a selfish man. Years ago, when she had expressed her desire to someday have kids after a mutual friend of theirs had announced her pregnancy, he had... Well, he had fucked her sister apparently. But he's still there, standing in her living room. He's put the ice cream down on the coffee table and he's standing completely still, eyes fixed on the picture frame he's holding. He looks mostly pensive and confused, but there's something else in his eyes that she never would have expected to see. He looks almost wistful. She hesitates and then makes her way over to him silently, coming to a stop right behind him.

The picture he's staring down at so intently is from Jay's third birthday party. It had been a hard one to get through for all of them, given that it was the second birthday without his dad, but it had been way better than his second birthday, which was only a couple weeks after his dad went missing, and she had tried her best to make it a happy day. She had thrown him a big birthday party in the park with cake and a bouncy castle and entertainers and kids everywhere. It was pirate themed. Jay had loved it. Until he woke up the next morning, ecstatic and running through the apartment calling for his dad because that was the only thing he had wished for.

In the picture, Laurel has Jay on her hip and they're wearing pirate hats and eye patches, brandishing balloon swords and giving the camera their best swashbuckling sneer. They look happy. It's a good picture. Something of a lie, yeah. But a good picture nonetheless.

''Oliver,'' she says.

He barely reacts, placing the picture down calmly and turning towards her. She can't read the look on his face. That's more unnerving than it sounds. He is utterly impenetrable now. Can't get past those walls. She's not overly confident it would be a good idea to try. Some people have walls for a reason. ''So,'' he says. He releases a long, slow, even breath, and then he smiles. It looks like a real smile, but it's hard to tell. ''You're a mom.''

She can't help it. She smiles. She smiles wider than she has in a long time. She has made a lot of foolish mistakes in her life and she has done a lot of things that she has regretted, but she has never regretted Jay. As hard as it is sometimes and as unexpected as he was, she has loved every single second of being a mom. ''I'm a mom.''

''Congratulations,'' he says softly. He glances back at the picture of her and Jay and she hears him suck in a breath. When he looks back at her, there's an apologetic look in his eyes, like he's already regretting what he's about to ask her. ''Uh, he's not... I mean, I don't - There's no way...'' He trails off and shuts his eyes, looking positively mortified.

She keeps her mouth shut a few seconds longer than she should, because she does enjoy letting him stew, and then she laughs and drifts away from him, flicking her hair over her shoulder as she goes. ''No,'' she says firmly, definitively. ''He's three, not five.''

''Right,'' he nods. ''Right. Sorry.'' He shakes his head.

Okay, so she'll admit she's a little endeared by the way his cheeks redden. Sue her. It's cute. Disarming. But even with the ice cream and the adorable embarrassment, Oliver Queen is just not hers anymore. And she stopped being his the second he chose to step foot on that boat with her sister. She will forgive him. She is sure of that. That's just the kind of person she is.

''You're far too good for me, Miss Lance,'' Oliver used to tell her, grinning at her over a gin and tonic.

''You are a saint and I love you,'' Tommy had sighed in relief, whenever she agreed to accompany him to some event.

''You're such a good girl,'' her father had babbled every night that she had to pick him up from a bar in the middle of the night, right before he accidentally mentioned Sara's name and burst into drunken sobs.

''You have no idea how intimidating your goodness is,'' her husband told her once, before he was her husband, back when he was just some mildly annoying reluctant friend who said he had the weight of the world on his shoulders and meant it. ''It's almost fucked up. You're like a superhero. Laurel Lance, saving the world with a smile and the heart of a fuckin' lionness. You should wear a costume,'' he had chuckled, before she rolled her eyes and leaned into kiss him for the first time, catching him wonderfully off guard.

So, yeah. Yeah, Laurel will forgive Oliver. And she'll probably even let him into the perimeters of her life at some point. But - and no disgustingly inappropriate pun intended - that ship has sailed. But it still begs the question: What is he really doing here? What was he hoping to find with her?

''I'm just surprised,'' he adds on.

''You think_ you're _surprised,'' she scoffs, folding her arms over her chest. ''You should've seen me when the stick turned pink.''

''I just...'' Oliver suddenly looks very lost, standing there looking around like he's trying to find his footing or remember why he's here. His eyes dart around the room wildly and there is a pained look in his eyes that she is not vain enough to believe she is the sole reason for. ''I guess I missed a lot.''

She looks down at the ground, biting her tongue to keep from saying something like _no shit._ ''Yeah,'' is what she says instead. ''You did.'' She has no idea what else to say to him, but she knows she has to say something. When she raises her eyes to him, he's not looking at her anymore and there's a strange look on his face. ''What?'' She turns to follow his gaze. ''What are you - '' and then she sees the picture behind her '' - oh.''

Oliver's shoulders slump and he smiles softly, an odd mixture of disappointment and relief clouding his eyes. ''You're married.''

She looks between him and the picture and eventually, her gaze settles on the picture taken on her wedding day. They didn't have a big, formal wedding. Just a small ceremony in a local park with close friends and family a few months after Jay was born. He had wanted to give her a big wedding. He had been adamant about it. He had proposed to her when she was six months pregnant with Jay and they had started planning this huge event, but for a lot of reasons, the idea was scrapped and they went with quiet and easy instead. She didn't mind. It had never been about that for her. She didn't want the wedding. She wanted the marriage. It was a simple wedding with a quick ceremony, and she hadn't even worn a real wedding dress; just a white sundress that fell below her knees and had prints of yellow canaries on the hem.

The reception, on the other hand, had been wild and crazy. It went well into the early morning and at one point there had been Cirque du Soleil performers and keg stands. Laurel maintains that allowing Tommy Merlyn to throw her wedding reception was both one of the worst decisions she has ever made and one of the best. But she was happy. There was (is) a space in her life where Sara used to be and her own mother didn't even show up, claiming it was short notice and she couldn't get away, but she was happy that day. Truly.

She clears her throat and turns her back on Oliver completely, picking up a different picture and staring down at the happy faces. It was taken somewhere around Christmas time when Jay was about six months old. In the picture, Jay is bundled up in winter clothing and safe in his dad's arms and Laurel is pressed close to both of her boys. Her husband's arm is stretched out to take the picture with her phone and they're standing in front of the giant lavish lit up Christmas tree that goes up in downtown Starling City every year. ''Yep,'' she forces a smile for Oliver, but still can't bring herself to look at him. ''I'm a Mrs.''

''I didn't know,'' he says very quietly, from right behind her.

She snaps out of it, putting the picture down and looking up at him with a frown. ''How could you?''

''You didn't want me to know,'' he states. He doesn't sound particularly hurt, but there is a vaguely wounded puppy dog look in his eyes.

She winces. ''Oliver - ''

''It's fine, Laurel. You don't owe me an explanation.''

She feels her body stiffen and she draws herself up to her full height, hoping that the slightly scowl she offers is just menacing enough without being cruel. ''You're right,'' she says firmly. ''I don't own you an explanation. I don't actually owe you anything, Oliver.'' Perhaps that is unnecessarily harsh, but people have constantly been giving her grief about her choice to keep her marriage and her child from him, like he needs to know for some mysterious reason, like he _deserves_ to know, and it is, quite frankly, ridiculous. She does not _belong_ to him. She has never _belonged _to him. And her life is her life. Oliver Queen is not entitled to her or any knowledge of her life. It's sad that she apparently has to say this out loud. ''But I do have a heart,'' she tacks on. ''And I didn't want to...'' She trails off, pressing her lips together. ''You just got back. I didn't want to overload you,'' she covers with a shrug.

He nods, but doesn't look completely convinced. ''I suppose it makes sense now,'' he muses. ''Why Tommy was so adamant I stay away from you.''

Laurel laughs. ''Tommy,'' she murmurs warmly. ''He's a good friend. He's become incredibly protective of me.''

''I noticed.''

They fall into a not quite comfortable silence and she tries to keep the smile on her face from slipping. Oliver looks awkward, like he's torn between wanting to leave and wanting to ask her more questions. He is looking intently at the wedding picture. She can tell that he's sizing up the man in the picture, trying to gauge whether or not he's good enough for her just by looking at his face in the photograph. She hesitates, her entire being still curled protectively around her husband's memory, and then she says in a quiet breath, ''Dean.''

Oliver looks up sharply. ''What?''

''My husband,'' she says. ''That's his name. Dean Winchester.'' She licks her lips slowly and winces in pain, staring down at the platinum band on her ring finger. She twists it anxiously and inhales. It does not go unnoticed by Oliver, she's sure, but he also doesn't say anything and she's grateful for that.

''You look happy,'' he tells her, nodding at the picture.

She closes her eyes and does her best to breathe evenly around the ache in her throat. ''We were.'' She opens her eyes just in time to see the tick in Oliver's jaw and the pre-emptive grimace on his face because he already knows what she's going to say. It's pity. That jaw tick and grimace. Laurel knows that look like the back of her hand. Her boyfriend cheated on her with her sister, they died, her father became an alcoholic, her mother vacated her life almost completely, she got knocked up out of wedlock, and her husband... Well. Let's just say that she knows pity.

''Were?''

She doesn't look at him, still twisting her ring and staring at Dean's face in the picture. ''He, um... Dean passed away. About a year ago. It-It was a work accident.'' She clenches her teeth and swallows hard. It's been a year - it's been over a year - and it's still hard to say without wanting to throw up. Dean is dead. It still doesn't make sense to her.

Oliver lets out a long, slow breath. Even that is somehow pitying. ''I'm sorry.''

She lifts her eyes to give him a watery smile. ''Yeah, me too.''

And that is, of course, the exact moment that her bedroom door opens and a seriously impatient three year old calls out, ''Mommy!'' He sounds frustrated and dangerously close to a meltdown. ''I need you! I can't find Sweetheart!''

She jumps at the sound of her son's voice. ''Oh. Crap.'' She whirls around, instantly spotting the stuffed monkey on the couch. ''Jay, honey, I've got her! I'll be right there, okay?''

Jay heaves a long suffering sigh. ''Okaaay!''

Laurel's a little surprised when he heads back into the bedroom without any whining whatsoever, door shutting with a soft click, and then she remembers that she left her iPad in the drawer of her nightstand. Well, yeah. Sure. Jay is an iPad freak. He is constantly swiping it from her purse or her bedroom. She can't remember the last time she got to use it. Getting him back to sleep is going to be fun. She sighs, looking down at the stuffed monkey with the overwhelmingly sad eyes in her hands. She glances up at Oliver. ''Ollie - ''

''I should go.''

''Yeah. I'm sorry. It's just Jay's sick,'' she says, following him to the door, ''and he's monumentally cranky and clingy right now. His dad...'' She shakes her head, letting out a small chuckle. ''Dean was way better at helping a sick kid. I swear he had superpowers.''

''It's fine,'' Oliver waves it off. ''Really. I shouldn't have come over uninvited.'' He stops in the doorway, hovering almost nervously, and then he turns to her, puppy dog eyes and all, and says, for the thousandth time, ''I'm sorry.''

Her fingers tighten around Sweetheart and she draws in a breath. ''You apologized already.''

''And it will never be enough,'' he says.

She opens her mouth to speak, but doesn't know what to say to that. She'll forgive him in time. But she's not entirely sure he'll ever forgive himself. She could comfort him right now. Tell him that he's a good person and that he should let people in. That he can't carry around this burden all by himself, but he won't listen. She knows that. Instead of trying, she just offers him a smile and says, ''Good night, Ollie. You should go home. Spend some time with Thea. Catch up on all the movies you missed. ...I'll see you, okay?'' It's not forgiveness. Not exactly. But...

It will have to be good enough for now.

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After putting the ice cream away and turning off all the lights, Laurel crawls into bed with Jay and the stuffed monkey dubbed Sweetheart because ''that's what Daddy calls you'' that Grandpa Bobby bought for Jay shortly before he passed away.

Jay is wide awake, happily watching The Backyardigans on the iPad. He's sniffling, continuously wiping his nose on his blanket despite her telling him to use the Kleenex, but he seems in better spirits than before. He hasn't brought up ''the man from the TV'' yet, which she is eternally grateful for, but she expects to be hit with a bunch of questions she's not sure how to answer tomorrow. Laurel is half asleep beside him, clumsily pulling her son's thumb out of his mouth every time he tries to suck on it, a bad habit that he has had since he was a baby and one that she can't seem to get him to quit. Other than the sound of animated animals singing songs about their adventures on the iPad, the bedroom is quiet and it's hard not to think about Dean and all of the things he's missing out on.

''Mommy,'' Jay whispers, patting her on the cheek, after the episode has ended and the iPad is lying forgotten on top of the covers. ''Mommy,'' he repeats, sitting perched on his knees, Sweetheart clutched to his chest. ''You look sad.''

''No, baby, I'm not - I just...'' She sighs and pushes herself up into a sitting position, back against the headboard. ''I just miss your dad, Jay.''

''Oh,'' he nods in understanding, and then tilts his head to the side. ''Is Daddy going to come home?''

''Jay, that's not... We've talked about this. People don't... They can't come back.'' She reaches out to cup his cheek. ''Daddy can't come back.''

''The man from the TV did.''

Well, this is not a conversation she wants to have with a three year old. ''Josh, sweetie, it's bedtime,'' she mumbles tiredly, because what else can she really say? ''We have to go to sleep now. Tomorrow's Saturday. What do we get to do on Saturday?''

He perks up. ''Pancakes with Grandpa!''

''That's right. So the sooner you go to sleep, the sooner you get to have pancakes and bacon.''

He thinks about that for a second and then leans over the side of the bed to pluck something from the ground. He produces The Lorax with a flourish and a winning smile that is nearly identical to his father's, scooting closer to her and handing her the book. ''You promised,'' he says.

Even though her eyelids feel like they weigh about a million pounds and she's not sure how she's going to get through this without falling asleep, she grins back. ''Okay, baby,'' she says, as he cuddles into her. ''One more time.'' She opens the book, takes in a deep breath, and clears her throat. _''At the far end of town where the Grickle-grass grows and the wind smells slow-and-sour when it blows and no birds ever sing excepting old crows is the Street of the Lifted Lorax...''_

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Somewhere in Maine's 100 Mile Wilderness, there is a flash of light.

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**end**


	3. Fluffy Ficlet

_AN: Happy Underdogs Wednesday, everyone! Is everyone in the SPN fandom okay after last night? I know I'm not._

_So, okay. Originally, I was going to do a different super fluffy not!fic for today that involved inserting Laurel into the SPN world as opposed to inserting Dean into the Arrow world, which I seem to do a lot, but after last night's Supernatural episode, I decided to break out an even sweeter, cavity inducing Happily Ever After not!fic because... Well, because I am in dire need of some cheering up. For a couple of reasons._

_A) After last night's absolutely dreadful midseason finale that failed at making up for this incredibly bad season (with the exception of 9.07, which was actually amazing), Supernatural and I have decided to take some time apart while it rethinks it's terrible life choices._

_and_

_B) Well. I mean. I'm a Katie Cassidy and a Laurel Lance fan, so I've been in dire need of cheering up ever since the Arrow writers made it abundantly clear that they have no idea what they're doing with Laurel and Katie._

_And so! Behold the uber fluffy oneshot that involves these two characters getting some goddamn happiness for once. (No, but seriously. This is ALL THE FLUFF.)_

_Suggested Listening (this is a new thing I'm going to start doing every Wednesday because I have a massive Dean/Laurel playlist and I thought I'd share): Say (All I Need) by OneRepublic | Dust to Dust by The Civil Wars | New York by Snow Patrol | Yellow Light by Of Monsters and Men_

**Disclaimer: **I own none of these characters.

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**Underdogs Wednesdays**

_Written by Becks Rylynn_

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**Underdogs Wednesday #4: Fluffy Ficlet**

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Dean comes home late.

He has been gone for two weeks this time. It is neither the longest amount of time he has been gone nor the shortest, but these past two weeks have been completely fucking hellish with back to back cases and barely enough time to sleep. So when he slips into the apartment, when he is finally able to let out a sigh of relief because he's _home_, he is exhausted right down to the bones. He can't even begin to describe how good it feels to be home. Laurel has been nothing but supportive and she makes this long distance thing look so easy - calling him every day, reminding him to check in with her every night, texting regularly, planning Skype dates, phone sex, all with a smile on her face - but Dean hates it. He wants to be with _her_, not her face on Sam's laptop or her voice on his cell, and maybe that's selfish, maybe he should stop whining and be grateful that he has any part of her at all, but what the fuck ever. It's the holidays, okay? Excuse him for wanting a real relationship at Christmas. Honestly, they've been doing this for two years, with him coming home when he can, and it's getting old.

He's thinking it might be time to retire soon.

After he has dropped his duffel bag down by the door and stripped off his bloody jacket that needs to be washed (and then probably thrown up because it's all clawed to hell from last week's werewolf), he finds her on the couch. She's fast asleep, wearing his Eye of the Tiger t-shirt with a blanket draped over her, and she looks peaceful. It's a good look on her, and not one he sees on her often given that she's always busy with work and her..._hobbies. _The _hobbies_ that she shares with Oliver Queen. There is a mug of cold tea on the coffee table and various papers from her work scattered all over. Her glasses, still on her face, are slipping down her nose. The apartment is dark, save for the light from the muted television that casts strange shadows on her face, but he can see that she looks a little pale. Probably still recovering from that stomach bug, he decides. He remembers her calling him last week, sick as a dog, complaining about missing work and that Adam really didn't need to send her home because she was fine. He also remembers her making an abrupt departure in the middle of the call to go throw up seconds after insisting she was fine.

He doesn't bother waking her; just takes the glasses off her face and gently scoops her up in his arms. She stirs slightly but relaxes when he assures her that,_ it's just me, babe, go back to sleep_, falling back into a deep slumber as soon as he places her in the bed and pulls the comforter up over her.

Despite his deep, _deep_ tiredness, Dean doesn't crawl straight into bed with her and sleep for 48 hours, which is what he'd love to do right about now. He takes a quick shower to let the hot water relax his tense, strained muscles, throws on some sweats and pads bare footed into the kitchen. He hasn't had anything decent to eat in two weeks. ...He's definitely going to spend all day tomorrow cooking. He cannot survive off of gas station burritos and Big Macs anymore. He's been spoiled by having a real kitchen.

Also, nobody should ever have to suffer through the after effects of a gas station burrito. And by after effects, he means sitting in a car with a gassy Sam. If Dean had any government secrets, he would talk after five minutes in that gas chamber, let's be real.

Because he has quite possibly the best girlfriend in the history of girlfriends, there is a plate of homemade snickerdoodles waiting for him in the kitchen. He swears he can hear a chorus of Christmas tree toppers singing _Hallelujah_ when he sees it. Laurel may not be the best cook - Laurel may, in fact, be one of the worst cooks - but she is a fantastic baker and he remains firm in his belief that you haven't lived until you've tasted her apple tarts that she makes for Christmas Eve. Her father has written poetry about those tarts. Drunken poetry, but still very touching poetry. Dean makes a beeline for the cookies, peels back the plastic wrap with the excitement of a little boy, and almost misses the envelope sitting next to the plate.

In Laurel's loopy handwriting, it says: _Open me for an early Christmas present!_

He chuckles to himself and sticks the rest of his half eaten cookie in his mouth, plucking the envelope from the counter. He figures it's probably one of those obnoxious singing cards that he hates, because she's made it clear that she thinks his old man grumpiness when it comes to things like singing cards and over the top blow up holiday decorations and fancy gum is hilarious. He opens the envelope and pulls out the card, trying to ready himself for a sudden explosion of glitter or singing. He's ready for all of that. He is not ready for what it actually is.

The card is just a generic Christmas card, not a singing one and there's no glitter, with a picture of two snowmen - a big one and a little one - but it's what it says that stops him dead. Above the snowmen, the card reads, _Merry Christmas, Dad! _

On the yellow post it note that Laurel has stuck to the front, she has written, _now you have a reason to tell all those cheesy dad jokes that you think are so funny!_ There is a moment, one that goes on for far too long, where he has no idea what's happening. It's a prank. It's just a joke. Or it's a trick. Or it's a dream. Yeah, that's probably it. It's a dream. It's got to be a dream. He's had this dream before. But it's not... This isn't... He doesn't get this. No way does _he_ get this.

And then he opens the card.

The grainy black and white picture falls out and flutters down onto the counter top, and his heart rate goes wild. He snatches it up and stares down at the sonogram, waiting for his brain to catch up with what's happening right now. The card reads

_To Daddy_

_I hope you're ready for this._

_Love, Mommy_

and that's when it all sinks in and the hazy fog of doubts trying to tell him that this can't possibly be real dissipates.

He hears her voice from behind him, a low mumble of his name, and when he whirls around she is standing there glowing, looking nervous but so damn happy. He's still clutching the sonogram in his hands, the edges of it crumpled from his tight grip. He clears his throat and tries to say something, but all that he manages to get out is, _Laur, is this...? Are you...?_

She nods, eyes bright, lips pulling up into a shaky but genuine smile and tells him, _I'm pregnant._

He looks back at the sonogram - at the tiny little thing that looks like a peanut that they made - and trips over his words when he says, _you're - we're having a baby?_

She nods again, laughing out a, _we're having a baby._

That's it. That's all he needs.

He crosses the room in three quick strides, cups her face, and crashes his lips down onto hers, kissing her soundly. She's laughing against his lips and he can tell just by the sound of her choked laughter that her eyes are wet, but so are his. This is real. The second the kiss ends, he's pulling her in for a crushing hug and then almost immediately pulling away and murmuring apologies, _sorry, sorry, am I squishing the baby? I don't want to squish the baby._

She laughs this long, loud, free sounding laugh and lays her warm hands against his cheeks. _No, no, I think you're good,_ she whispers. _Does this mean you're happy?_

It means that this is the happiest he has felt in a long time. He laughs, _happy? Laur... Laurel, you have no idea. You're going to be a mom._

She leans her forehead against his and lets out a contented sounding hum of, _you're going to be a dad._

_I love you,_ he blurts out, and peppers her face with kisses. No snark, no sarcasm, no awkward attempts to get those words out. He just says it. It's not something that has been easy for him to say previously, but with her... She makes it easy._ I love you, _he mumbles between kisses, _so much_. She's always made it easy to love her. How could anyone not?

Oh, yeah.

By the way, he's definitely retiring now.

**end**

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**AN: ...And then Dean became a stay at home dad while Laurel went out and saved the world as Black Canary. (For real though, all joking and sarcasm aside, I think that Dean would absolutely one hundred percent adore being a stay at home dad. I'm pretty sure that'd be like his dream job.)**

**I'm thinking next week is going to be a Jayverse version of 1x13 of Arrow. I feel like this series needs some action hero moments for Dean and Laurel.**


	4. Relationship Tag (Part One)

**Disclaimer: **I own none of the characters you recognize.

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**Underdogs Wednesdays**

_Written by Becks Rylynn_

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**Underdogs Wednesday #4: Relationship Tag (Part One)**

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**who cooks:**

Dean. Definitely Dean.

Laurel is _not_ a cook.

She knows her way around most breakfast foods - pancakes are her specialty - and you have not lived until you have tasted her baking, especially around the holidays (adorable little cookies that look like fingers at Halloween, seventeen hundred thousand different kinds of pies at Thanksgiving, the orgasm inducing - yeah, that's right - apple tarts at Christmas, giant heart shaped sugar cookies on Valentine's Day, a cake shaped like a bunny at Easter) but cooking is something incredibly foreign to her. She has been busy her entire life. Her whole family has. No one ever taught her to cook. Her mother worked, her father worked, and it wasn't like Sara ever asked her to make her food after school - Laurel would have learned to be Martha Stewart if Sara had asked for that, but even when they were kids, Sara was always so independent - so she simply never needed to know how to cook. Once she was out on her own, microwavable dinners became staples, takeout was a must, and - this is going to sound horrible - she always had rich boyfriends dragging her out to every new hip restaurant in town.

Dean has a similar history, of course. Been busy his entire life. There have been a lot of gas station delicacies, fast food, cereal, bread and peanut butter sandwiches, and spagetti-o's, simply because he's never had an actual home with a real kitchen. The difference is that Laurel had parents who brought home dinner. Dean had a father who left him and his brother alone for days at a time in shitty apartments or stale motel rooms, sometimes without enough money to feed both boys. Dean taught himself to cook starting when he was twelve years old and Sammy said he was tired of peanut butter. For a very long time, he told himself that he cooked because - well, because someone had to be Sam's parent. And then he started enjoying himself. There is something soothing about cooking for him.

Now that he has a kitchen of his own, he utilizes it as much as possible, cooking elaborate meals and trying out any new recipes he can get his hands on, filling the fridge up with tupperware containers full of homemade cabbage rolls, coconut curry chicken, pesto sauce, and all sorts of fresh produce and herbs.

Laurel tells him all the time, over plates of fresh grilled salmon with lemon dill sauce, or brisket with mashed potatoes and gravy, or homemade gnocchi, _you spoil me, Winchester._

He just winks, puts a plate of food in front of her, kisses the side of her mouth and says, _you're damn straight I do, Laur, someone's got to._

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**who does the laundry and other chores:**

They divvy up the household chores quite evenly because they're grown adults.

Grown adults who are both...kind of neat freaks, to be honest. Every time he leaves a mess of dirty dishes in the kitchen, she narrows her eyes and twitches with her arms folded over her chest, body tense, until he cleans it up. Every time she vaults in through the window at night after patrolling with Oli - The Arrow, he sits in bed and passive aggressively sips at his water or reads a book until she cleans up the mud she has tracked inside. It's actually something that's gotten worse since they both got sober, but hey. It's working for them.

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**how many children do they have:**

I would have a hard time seeing them with a big brood.

They're both incredibly nurturing people who have proven that they like and are great with kids of all ages (Laurel with Thea and Taylor, the boy from 1.20, and Dean with...every kid or teenager who has been on Supernatural) and it would make perfect sense for them - especially Dean - to crave a big family. But it probably wouldn't be in the cards for them. In the comics, Black Canary couldn't have kids (and I strongly suspect Arrow might be going down that route as well) so who knows? They might just wind up being the doting aunt and uncle who spoil Sam's kids rotten and then hand them back when they're sufficiently hyped up, full of sugar and have bags full of new toys and clothes and really anything else that was asked for (Dean's a pushover is what I'm saying).

If they did have kids, however... They wouldn't have more than two. A boy and a girl. They would be wonderful parents.

Laurel would have a truly amazing level of patience and understanding. Dean would always be there to make his kids laugh.

She would do her best to be as present in her children's lives as possible, going to every dance recital, school play, and spelling bee, because as much as she loves them, her parents were workaholics for her entire life and they missed out on things.

He would constantly be reminding his kids that yeah, it's super great for you to look out for each other but also make sure that you have lives outside of each other, because he knows firsthand that you should have more in your life than just your sibling.

They would also be obnoxious.

Aside from being _those parents_ - you know, the ones who are always making out or cuddling or flirting despite their kids' grossed out shrieks, and getting really intensely into soccer games and school debates - they'd also be super cheesy. Dean would make Dad Jokes all the live long day - and I'm not just talking about the standard _Dad, I'm hungry;_ _Hi, hungry, I'm dad_ jokes. I'm talking about the supremely serious Level One Dad Jokes. I'm talking _when is a door not a door? When it's ajar!_ Laurel would be openly affectionate with her kids, calling out_ I love you_ and kissing them on the cheek in front of their friends and doing that lick your finger and wipe the dirt off your kids' face thing that Moms do.

And they would love every single second of being parents.

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**who's more dominate:**

Well. In what way?

...Just kidding. It's Laurel. In every way _it is Laurel._

I don't even feel this needs explaining.

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**favourite non-sexual activity:**

Honestly, their favourite thing to do together is to do absolutely nothing.

That's not to say they don't like spending time together, because they do. They love spending time together. The problem is that their lives are incredibly hectic. They are always busy, always on the go, always dealing with yet another crisis, always doing _something._ Between work, hunting, being Black Canary and her trusty sidekick, and attending those dreadfully boring functions, they barely get any time to themselves, so when they do, their favourite thing to do - aside from the obvious _alone time_ in the bedroom - is to do nothing. It doesn't matter if that means sitting on the couch and watching a movie, or going out for dinner at Big Belly Burgers and a movie, or even just being together in the quiet of the Black Canary base in The Glades, any time they get with each other to relax and sit in peaceful silence is welcome.

Also, they're superheroes together. That's a thing that they do together and enjoy.

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**their favourite place to be together:**

Home. In the bedroom.

They also spend a lot of nights in the clock tower. For a long time, that clock tower was the bane of their existence. It was boiling hot in the summer and freezing cold in the winter, it was dirty, there were occasionally rats, and there was no power. It was just a rendezvous point for Black Canary and her team. But once they revamped it and turned it into headquarters, it actually became tolerable. They had power, heating, air conditioning, lighting, and tech. It wasn't anything like Oliver's little cave in Verdant's basement, but it was good enough for them and slowly, over time, it became one of their favourite places to go. And not just for team debriefing and patch up jobs. They'll often find themselves there on their days off, watching the sunrise, or set, just because it's quiet there. She'll sit in the face of the clock, dangling her legs over the edge and watching the city move beneath her, because she has never been afraid of heights - Dean will definitely not do that; he's not afraid, okay, he's just cautious - and Dean will be puttering around inside, stringing up lights and making sure the power is working. And then they'll throw a blanket down on the permanently dusty floor and sit and watch the sunrise while he teases her about fishnets and she makes sure he knows that the only time she will wear fishnets will be in the bedroom because - whoa, not practical.

It's the peacefulness of the clock tower that makes it one of their favourite date spots. When there is no mission, no one to track down, when Sin is not blaring her music, when Charlie is not trying to out hack Felicity to see who buys dinner tonight, when there is no meeting between Green Arrow and Black Canary, it is the quietest, calmest place in the city where no one can find them and no one can tell them to suit up and save the city. And for a little while, as the sun rises, it's just them.

...I mean, at least until Sam blazes through the doors with Charlie and Sin on his heels, announcing that they have a case and it's time to get to work.

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**any traditions: **

Honestly?

They're not exactly an overwhelmingly _traditional_ couple. That's not to say they don't try to be, because they do. They're both sentimental people and they try to make it to the burger joint where they had their first date every year on their anniversary (all these years and their anniversary has been interrupted by super-villains at least half of the time), they take Christmas off, but it's just... It's so hard to keep up with traditions when you're running a team, fighting masked men, saving people, hunting things, all that jazz...

You know?

The closest thing they have to a real tradition is this: Dean and Sam are retired supernatural hunters who are now based permanently in Starling City and working as...ahem...a mechanic and a handyman (they're totally normal dudes, yep, why wouldn't they be?). They don't drive around the US looking for cases anymore. But...

Every now and then, there will be a case that catches their attention or one of them will get a little stir crazy and so, with Laurel's permission, they'll head out for a few days - a couple of weeks at the most - and every time, without fail, when Dean comes home, he will bring Laurel a key chain or some other cheap gas station trinket that has a canary on it.

It's kind of a miracle that people don't figure out her secret identity immediately upon entering her canary infested home.

(Of course, given her history with Green Arrow, people probably just assume she's a Black Canary fangirl, which is just not true. Everyone knows Dean is the Black Canary superfan.)

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**their ''song'':**

Total Eclipse of the Heart.

...Just kidding! No, that song is the cheesiest song in the history of cheesy songs. Their song is What Does the Fox Say. OKAY, OKAY! I'LL BE SERIOUS NOW.

It would depend on which one of them you ask.

See, Dean thinks any music made after 1999 is irrelevant, and Laurel thinks that his collection of classic rock and metal is Dad Music.

There are a couple of songs they agree on - Simple Man by Lynyrd Skynyrd, anything by Led Zeppelin, Ride by Cary Brothers, Everlong by Foo Fighters (she likes the acoustic version, he prefers the original, either way it's the first song they danced to), I Need My Girl by The National (despite his seriously dinosaur like taste in music, I cannot shake the idea of Dean getting into The National) and he probably doesn't hate The Civil Wars as much as he says he does - and every time they get ready to go anywhere nice and she comes out of the bedroom dressed to the nines, he'll start playing You Shook Me All Night Long or sometimes just sing it at the top of his lungs.

But the one song that they have always agreed on and that they, in fact, have a lot of history with is Here Comes Your Man by Pixies.

...It's the song that was playing on the radio when they had their first kiss.

**end**

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**AN: ...I am so sorry about not updating this collection.**


	5. Another Fluffy Ficlet

_AN: 9.07 was the best episode of the season. I couldn't not do this._

_For those not in the SPN fandom, episode 9.07 had Dean travelling back a small town in New York that he had spent time in when he was sixteen. He had been caught stealing bread and peanut butter and instead of going to juvie, he went to Sonny's Home for Troubled Boys where he finally got to live a normal, happy life with a girlfriend, a father figure who outright told him, ''I'm proud of you'' and he was on the wrestling team and everything. And then when he was getting ready to take his girlfriend to the prom, his father came back, told him he had a job to do and Dean went back to living in motel rooms and shitty apartments without complaint because he had to raise his little brother. Lord knows his father wasn't going to do it. (In present day, there was a storyline with a terrifying looking ghost and an adorable little boy.) It was a very important episode for Dean that showed that, no, he wasn't actually cool with raising his brother and hunting down evil creatures at sixteen years old and maybe he wanted a different life for himself._

_Also, there's some mild Felicity/Diggle in this one because that's how I roll when it comes to Felicity pairings._

**Disclaimer:** I own none of the characters you recognize.

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**Underdogs Wednesdays**

_Written by Becks Rylynn_

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**Underdogs Wednesday #5: Another Fluffy Ficlet**

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Okay, so let's imagine that Laurel has managed to escape Starling City's wackiness somehow.

She leaves her job at the DA's office (it's just not as fulfilling as CNRI was, she's been feeling that for awhile and leaving turns out to be easier than she thought it would be), she makes a clean break from Oliver and his band of merry (wo)men (you can't expect me not to make Robin Hood references), and promises her dad she that will check in frequently and they'll Skype every Sunday night. It's not that she doesn't want to help Team Arrow. It's just that this city has caused her nothing but pain. This city broke her. The rag tag group of misfits will do fine without her. Oliver has hit his stride as a leader, he's got Diggle, Felicity, Roy, Thea, Barry Allen... He doesn't need her. And her dad's doing great! He's even dating again. And so Laurel's going to make like the Canary that she is and fly. She can save the world from corrupt idiots anywhere.

Now let's imagine that Dean has finally retired.

Sam is back in Texas trying to work things out with Amelia after an emergency with Riot brought them back together (don't ask, it's a very long Lifetime movie story, okay?), Cas is living in an apartment in Maryland with his incredibly attractive boyfriend who looks kind of like Idris Elba only with even bigger arms and makes Cas so happy that he giggles, Kevin is starting college in a few months, and Charlie and Dorothy have taken over the bunker and are running the entire Hunters/Women & Men of Letters operation better than any Winchester ever could. His family is going to be fine. He trusts them. They're adults. It's time for him to do something for himself for once in his life. And so Dean decides that it's time to retire and settle down.

Neither of them have any specific plans for their brand new chaos free lives and only vague ideas of what they might want to try doing (she knows that she misses CNRI and giving people hope and help and fighting for what is right; he thinks he might like a house, one that's his and that he can fix up and make shine), but they've been seeing each other for about a year now and what they _do_ know is that whatever they're going to do, they're going to do it together.

They decide to travel.

His brother and her father are against this plan, as they are both incredibly, annoyingly overprotective. Quentin seems to think that this is a bad idea because they are both former addicts and they haven't been clean that long (two years for her, nine months for him) and _what if something happens, Laurel? _(_You mean what if one of us relapses and drags the other down, _she snaps.) Sam just tells Dean to _check in regularly and maybe avoid wine country._

They leave in June. First, they head off on a real honest to God road trip. They go to Lawrence first and stop in to see Missouri, who is quick to tell Laurel that she is _too good for this boy, _which she says while she's winking at Dean and offering him a kind smile. They go to Sioux Falls, because it was once the closest thing to home he ever had and checking in on what's left is just an instinct to him by now. They see the Grand Canyon, Mount Rushmore, the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, the Winchester Mystery House (because she thinks it's funny), and they even go to the Mall of America. They go all over California (for awhile, she's pretty adamant about moving to Los Angeles and living near the beach).

She takes a truly impressive amount of pictures and uploads all of them to her social media accounts.

He even braves an airplane for her - he braves an airplane _sober_ for her - and lets her drag him to Cabo. He complains about the heat and the sun and the sand, but she sees right through him. Dean Winchester is a total beach bum and this is honestly one of the best kept secrets about him. On their first day, she posts a picture of the view of the beach from their hotel room on her Instagram and gets comments like:

_oh my GOOOOD is that heaven? it totally looks like heaven roy never takes me any place nice :( i'm leaving him for dean watch out _from Thea

_Tell Dean that he's making me look like a lazy boyfriend_ from Sam

_dude! that beach looks amazing! look at how blue the water is! also: remind dean to wear generous amounts of sunscreen because he freckles_ from Charlie

and

_:) _from Oliver, who is monosyllabic even on the internet.

After Cabo, he risks an airplane for her again and surprises her by whisking her off to Rome, Italy...

...and proposing in front of the Trevi Fountain at night.

Dean Winchester is also a closet romantic. Pass it on. She knew this already because of what he did for her on their one year anniversary, but this is out of this world romantic. This is something neither of them ever thought they would ever have, and that's what makes it romantic.

He pays these two teenagers to film him proposing and snap pictures, just because he knows her and he knows she'll want pictures. And the ring is beautiful. He does a damn good job. He even asked her father for permission. She is hesitant to call it perfect, because she doesn't believe in perfect, but that's what it feels like. They're in Rome in front of the Trevi Fountain and he's proposing to her with a gorgeous ring. There's a lot of shaking and crying and laughing and it's... It's everything she used to dream Oliver would give her and everything she knew Tommy could give her. It's everything she ever wanted.

They're on their phones right after. He's calling Sam, still grinning like an idiot, and she's calling her father, still shaking. They don't tell anyone else until the next day, when she posts one of the pictures that was taken for them, of him down on one knee with the ring in his hand and her with her hands over her mouth, already crying. It takes two minutes and seventeen seconds for their phones to blow up with texts and calls and email notifications.

_*incoherent flailing* _is what Charlie texts Dean about eight seconds after Laurel puts the picture on Facebook.

_You couldn't have waited until Christmas? I lost the pool. _ from Kevin_. Seriously though. Congratulations._

_AAAAAAHHHH! OH MY GOD! LAUREL! I CALL MAID OF HONOR! _from Joanna.

and

_xxdfcongartul;'Ationnds _from Cas, who still has trouble with the key pad on his phone.

After Rome, they go back to Starling City for Christmas with her father and are invited to the Queen mansion for a surprise party for Thea's birthday, which is odd, considering that Thea's birthday isn't until next month, and they wind up walking into a surprise engagement party thrown by Thea and Charlie.

It is the happiest either of them have been in a very long time.

.

On New Year's Eve, they're in Times Square, and Dean is grumbling about people smearing their germs all over him. But he still dutifully takes her phone from her hand and stretches his arm out to take a picture of them in front of the bright lights and the swarms of people. The picture she posts of them kissing on Rockin' New Year's Eve is upstaged by the picture Felicity posts of the brand new rock on her ring finger, which is fine because honestly, it's about damn time. _Those two are cheesier than us_, Dean says, _it's about fucking time he put a goddamn ring on it._

Shortly after Valentine's Day, they're in Seattle, sitting in the first Starbucks and she is trying to convince him to either A) brave another plane so they can go to Europe or B) ride a tandem bicycle, which she knows he will never do given that his reaction to that the first time she asked was a, _wow, okay, no. I love you, Laur, you know I love you, but full friggin' stop right there._

And then Dean gets a phone call. From Sonny.

Turns out, he's retiring...

.

It's temporary.

Dean tells her that it's temporary. Hell, for a long time he tells himself that it's temporary. He is not fit to run this place. He is not fit to_ fix _people, least of all kids, especially when he has never even been able to fix himself. Besides, this isn't what he wants for Laurel. She should be taking the world by storm, not stuck in Hurleyville, New York. That was the plan. That was his plan. He was going to give her the world.

And so he tries not to fall in love with the work, with helping these kids, with everything that Sonny's Home for Boys still is to him. He goes about each day for a year telling himself that this is temporary and that he needs to find someone who can actually do this place justice.

He tries so hard not to feel like this place is home.

He fails.

The thing is...

...This was never going to be temporary.

Laurel has been on board since that first phone call, taking it all in stride, from the bad water pressure in the ancient house to the majorly nasty attitudes that some of the boys who come through here have. She never complains once. Not about missing out on Europe or being so far away from her father. She never tells him that she doesn't actually want to deal with a bunch of troubled boys and that she doesn't want to live on a freaking farm. Every night, when she's in bed, reading glasses on, book propped up on her knees, he tells her that they're not going to be here forever and that they'll be back on the road before she knows it. Every night, when he tells her this, she laughs, scrapes her fingernails down the back of his neck in this oddly soothing way and says, _whatever you say, honey._

She seems to accept this place as her new home faster than he does, adapting to the change with an incredibly amount of grace and dignity. A mere four weeks after moving in, she's gone into full on interior decorator mode. She installs new shower heads in the bathrooms, orders new kitchen appliances, redecorates the admittedly dated house, and helps him fix up the sink in the kitchen. The old barn out back? She convinces him to tear that down, build a new one and turn it into a gym for the boys. Somewhere where they can let out their aggression safely with supervision. She fills the house with board games because she's a staunch believer that all kids need to play board games with their families and she has taken it upon herself, from the very first second, to become these kids' family.

About six months into the first year, she gets a part time job at a legal aid office in town and starts helping people who have been screwed over by big companies and rich assholes. A little piece of light returns to her eyes here, illuminating a part of her that has been dark since before he met her. She's amazing.

She's nurturing and kind, tough when she needs to be, and she has a truly inordinate amount of patience. Dean's not entirely sure where she got that quality from. He's met her father and yeah, Quentin is a good father and a great man, but he's not an overwhelmingly patient man. Dean hasn't even met her mother but from what he hears, she wasn't super involved in her daughter's life. And yet Laurel is a natural at this. She is a terrific mother.

She loves it here.

Eventually, over time, when Quentin Lance makes his weekly Skype call, he starts adding in a, ''hi, boys' and every time Dean gets a phone call, whether it's from Sam or Charlie or a member of the Queen family, he is asked, ''and how are the kids doing?'' Felicity and Diggle come and stay with them for a couple days after Thanksgiving, a pit stop on their way home from Felicity's parents' place and in between Felicity and Laurel talking about weddings and Dig helping Dean with the barn, Felicity is helping tutor the boys and Dig's telling Dean that he's doing a great job.

People around town _know_ him. They greet him by name in the supermarket. He has a relationship with the local law enforcement (which will never stop being weird, but that's a story for another time). He and Laurel have a monthly double date with Robin and her husband. They're invited to parties. They have a real life here.

Slowly, over the course of a year, Dean and Laurel put down roots, until one day Dean walks into the house and has a sudden, startling realization. It comes on a sunny but chilly day in February, a year - nearly to the day - after Dean and Laurel moved in.

Currently, they have four boys in their care: Dylan, a tiny seven year old who has said about two words in the three months he has been here and clings to Laurel like a monkey, something she does not appear to mind in the least. Dean's pretty sure that the day he leaves is going to be a bad day. Justin, a scrawny twelve year old with fetal alcohol syndrome who is probably the sweetest, most helpful kid Dean has ever met in his entire life, but who has been dealt a shitty hand in life and just can't seem to catch a break. He's been in and out of foster homes his entire life and people just keep...leaving him. Dean foresees him sticking around awhile. Lee, a fifteen year old bully who learned his behavior from his father. He has a sweet grandfather who loves him and he's been living with him, far away from his father, for a year now, but he keeps getting in trouble and in a last ditch effort to straighten him out, was sent here. And Kyle, a seventeen year old spray paint artist with a tongue made out of razor blades who got caught tagging a cop car and was offered a second chance here instead of in juvie. They're good boys, they are - anyone can see that. Well. At least Dean and Laurel can. The biggest problem that all of the boys that pass through their doors have is that the world has failed them. And even though he's not entirely sure what he's doing, Dean is trying his best to help them.

He's pretty sure he's failing, and that he needs to find someone who can actually help these boys.

And then one day, he walks into the house, arms laden with grocery bags, and finds Laurel in the living room, teaching a blushing, nervous Lee how to dance. He stops, freezing in the doorway, just behind Kyle, eyes on them.

Kyle is leaning against the doorframe, teasing Lee mercilessly about _learning to dance for some giiiirl_ and earning himself some seriously sharp glances from Laurel. Dylan and Justin are sitting on the couch with a bowl of popcorn, Justin's homework lying forgotten on the table while Dylan has his head bent dutifully over his. Laurel lets out a soft laugh every time Lee steps on her foot, gently murmuring, _don't worry about it, you're learning _to his red face. Lee is clearly concentrating deeply, trying his best to do this right, but it's also clear that Justin's eyes following his every movement and Kyle's mocking is not helping him. When he trips and nearly plows into Laurel, his face goes bright red and a dark look passes through his eyes. He turns on Kyle viciously, eyes dark, but stops the second Laurel puts her hand on his arm and says, very quietly, _relax, sweetie, we'll finish this later when we don't have an audience._ She squeezes his arm and offers him a wink and the hot headed former bully melts, looking desperate, confused and touched all at the same time, like he's never had any sort of female influence in his life before.

On her way over to the couch, she sends Kyle a look that has the smirk falling off his lips, and then she takes her seat between Dylan and Justin, one hand tapping Justin's forgotten homework in a reminder to get busy, the other moving to Dylan's back as she leans over to check on what he's doing.

In the doorway, Dean feels suddenly breathless.

It's not like this is the first time he's walked in on a surprisingly domestic, happy scene in his new life. It's just the first time he's walked in on a surprisingly domestic, happy scene that mirrors a piece of his past from so long ago. It's the first time that he's felt this undeniable stirring in his gut that is telling him that he has to stay. That he _belongs_ here. The sudden, startling realization that stings at his eyes and turns his lips up into an awed smile is that he has a home. He hasn't had a home, at least not one like this, since he was four years old.

More importantly, he has the power to give kids who have been dealt bad hands their best shot.

How could he ever leave that?

.

When he tells Laurel that he doesn't think this is temporary, she places her warm hand on his cheek, says, _well, no shit, honey_ and her light, happy laughter echoes in his ears.

And Dean is _happy._

It feels like a beginning.

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**end**


	6. Jayverse 2

**Disclaimer:** I own none of the characters you recognize. I only own Jay.

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**Underdogs Wednesdays**

_Written by Becks Rylynn_

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**Underdogs Wednesday #6: Jayverse #2**

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Oliver sees her first.

Tommy - poor hungover Tommy - has just turned back to the coffee cart after taking one sip and declaring, in his best Charlie Brown impression, ''This isn't what I ordered,'' and Oliver is dutifully waiting for his friend; standing in the sunlight, enjoying the way the hot coffee combats the chill in the Fall air and basking in how peaceful the park is. Feeling somewhat content for the first time in God knows how long, he closes his eyes and lets out a long slow breath, relishing in the welcome feeling of _home._ He takes a sip of his sugar infested black coffee, opens his eyes... And there she is. As if the universe is trying to tell him something.

''Laurel,'' he mumbles, barely a breath. His body moves on its own, jerking forward and taking a singular step in her direction before he regains control of his heart and stops. His lips thin and he holds his breath, watching her from afar. She's sitting at a picnic table, a single file open in front of her, and her head is down as she scribbles down notes on a yellow legal pad. The soft breeze occasionally ruffles her hair and he can tell just by her body language that she's cold, probably shivering under her thin sweater.

He remembers that. How stubborn she was when it came to admitting she was cold, like admitting she was freezing was admitting she was weak. Her lips would have to be tinted blue before she finally gave in and accepted his jacket. Oliver takes a gulp of his coffee and ignores the way it burns his mouth and throat, too preoccupied with the way Laurel stifles a yawn and tucks her hair behind her ear. It's incredibly wrong. He knows this. Because she's married. And a mother. Not only that, but she's a widow. This is wrong. It's just...

It's _Laurel._

''Hey,'' Tommy, slurping obnoxiously on his latte and munching on a piece of biscotti, rejoins him, looking much happier now that he's got an acceptable drink and a cookie. ''What are you looking at?''

''Nothing,'' Oliver lies, but Tommy's gaze has already found Laurel.

The second he sees the object of Oliver's affections, he sighs heavily and stares up at Oliver with narrowed eyes. Slowly, still staring, eyes still narrowed, he takes another bite of his biscotti. Somehow, he manages to make eating biscotti look disapproving. ''Dude,'' he says with a shake of his head, aggressively dunking his cookie in his coffee. ''No.''

Oliver scratches the back of his neck and chews on his bottom lip. ''I know.''

''OIiver,'' Tommy snaps. ''_No_.''

''I know.''

''Married.''

''Tommy - ''

''Super. Fucking. _Married_.''

''I. Fucking. _Know_,'' Oliver growls, and glares heatedly.

Tommy does not back down and instead tosses out a glare of his own.

Oliver caves almost immediately. ''Look,'' he grumbles out. ''I'm not trying to - Hey.'' He stops abruptly, watching a tall - very tall, at least 6 '4 - flannel clad giant stride over to Laurel, a tray full of Styrofoam cups in one hand, a grease stained paper bag in the other. He tilts his head to the side. ''Who is that?''

Tommy swivels around briefly. ''Oh, that's Sam.'' He frowns down at his coffee, where he has just dropped the last bit of his biscotti. ''Laurel's brother-in-law.''

Oliver watches Laurel greet her brother-in-law with a bright beaming smile, slapping her file shut and sliding it into her bag. ''Right,'' he nods, but doesn't take his eyes off of Laurel.

She rises to her feet and moves past her brother-in-law, resting her hand on his shoulder briefly. Then, facing the playground, she cups her hands around her mouth and calls out, ''Boys! Food's here!''

Oliver frowns. ''Right,'' he murmurs.

''Oliver, let it go,'' says Tommy, trying to fish out the cookie.

Laurel's son - _Jay, _he reminds himself, _short for Josh _- comes running out from the playground, giggling madly, cheeks flushed rosy red. Behind him, a man is running after him, chasing him, and when he catches him, he sweeps him up off the ground into his arms. Jay shrieks wildly and laughs loudly, a screeching, overjoyed kind of laugh as he is tipped upside down. There's something familiar about the man. Oliver knows him from somewhere. He's seen him, but... He just...can't quite place him. He's about his height, sandy brown hair, with at least three or four days worth of facial hair, and Jay is clinging to his leather jacket like a little monkey. The man doesn't seem to mind one bit, settling the boy on his hip comfortably. He laughs at something the child has said, head thrown back. He is still laughing when he approaches Laurel - this loud, free sounding laugh that is carried through the air by the breeze - and when he reaches her, he leans down and kisses her, free hand moving to cup her cheek.

That's when Oliver realizes where he knows this man from: The pictures in Laurel's apartment. The ones of her smiling and happy.

He opens his mouth to say something, only to promptly shut it, because he has absolutely no idea what to say or how to react to this. He clears his throat. ''Tommy,'' he begins cautiously. ''Laurel's husband... He died, right?''

''Yeah,'' Tommy eyes him suspiciously. ''But please don't tell me that you're going to use that as an excuse to try and win her back.''

''What? No,'' Oliver shakes his head. ''No. I just think he looks pretty spry for a corpse.''

Tommy whirls around when Oliver points a finger, makes the mistake of taking a sip of coffee, and then promptly spits it out as soon as he sees Walking Dead over there. Oliver jumps back to avoid getting sprayed and starts to say something, but Tommy's already gone, practically sprinting across the park with Oliver on his heels.

Laurel sees them coming - of course she does; Oliver's not convinced she didn't know they were watching her the whole time - and leaps to her feet, darting around the picnic table to form a one woman wall, keeping her family behind her. ''Tommy,'' and that's her placating, professional tone of voice. ''Oliver.'' She greets them both with a warm smile, but reaches out to place her hand against Tommy's chest to keep him back. ''Hi. How are - ''

''Laurel,'' Tommy says.

Her smile softens into this happy, relieved little smile. ''I know.''

''_Laurel_.''

''I know,'' she insists. ''I know, okay? It's just, um - '' She looks over at her husband who...isn't even paying attention, too busy rubbing hand sanitizer onto his son's hands and handing out the food. What was his name again? It was something _Winchester_, Oliver remembers that much. Dan? Don? Something with a D. ''It's a long story,'' she tells them.

''Nobody is ever really dead,'' Tommy deadpans. ''Is that the story? Nobody is ever really dead and life is a lie.''

''Yep,'' Laurel leans in to pinch his cheek. ''That's the story,'' she winks. ''Dean!'' Dean! That's it! See? Something with a D. She turns her head back to her boys and crooks a finger at her husband when he reluctantly lifts his head. She clasps her hands and gives him a look. ''Quit pretending you can't see them,'' she says sharply, ''and get over here.''

Her husband - Dean - listens, letting a momentary smirk flash across his lips. He leans down to whisper something in his son's ear and pats his brother on the shoulder before abandoning the picnic table and joining his wife. He's still grinning from ear to ear, but there's something dark about it and he looks quite openly unimpressed as he gives Oliver a quick onceover that nobody else catches. This vague annoyance is gone in seconds, so quickly Oliver begins to question if it was ever really there. Dean's eyes fall on Tommy and he lets out a quiet chuckle, greeting him warmly, like an old friend, ''Merlyn.'' His voice is deeper than expected and when Tommy laughs and moves in for a hug, Dean accepts it.

Oliver should have seen that one coming, really.

''Dean,'' Tommy says, pulling away from the hug, ''you look damn good for a dead guy.''

''Tommy,'' Dean says. ''You can't flirt with me in front of my wife. She'll catch on.''

''I'll save it for later then. So,'' Tommy cocks his head to the side. ''I'm just going to jump right into it. Did you fake your own death? Was it a mob thing? Did you owe money to the mob? You look like someone who would get involved with the mob.''

Dean says, very dryly, ''You just_ get _me, Merlyn.''

''All right, you two,'' Laurel curls her arm around Dean's. ''You're making me jealous.'' And that's when Dean turns his attention to Oliver and his smile just drops. Oliver's pretty sure that this is about to get as awkward as it could possibly get. Laurel clears her throat. ''Um,'' she glances at Oliver, faltering briefly before taking a deep breath and noticeably tightening her grip on her husband's arm. ''Dean,'' she says his name like a warning. ''This is - ''

''Oliver Queen,'' Dean nods, lips pinched, and then he offers his hand. ''I know who you are. Congratulations on not being a waterlogged corpse. Must be nice to be alive.''

Laurel blows out a breath and gives her husband _a look._

Oliver blinks. Ah. Right. So. Dean Winchester knows about what happened to Sara. ''It is nice to be alive,'' he agrees, perfectly pleasant, taking the hand that is offered to him. ''It certainly seems to agree with you, Mr...'' He squints, like he's trying to remember his name. ''...Laurel's Husband.''

There's a moment of tense, awkward silence in which Tommy is literally facepalming and Laurel looks about five seconds away from grabbing them both by their ears and ordering them to use their words like adults, and then, much to Oliver's surprise, Dean's face breaks into this huge grin. ''I like that,'' he says. ''Mr. Laurel's Husband. I'm gonna make people call me that. It'll be my codename.''

''Dean,'' Laurel moans, cheeks coloring, trying just a little too hard not to smile.

''What?'' He wraps an arm around her. ''We've talked about this, sweetheart. When I married you, I got eternal bragging rights. In fact, I'm going to legally change my name. Laurel Lance's Husband Winchester. I think it has a - ''

Laurel, nearly sweating from the effort not to laugh, pushes at his shoulder. ''Go back to your son before he gets ketchup and mustard all over himself and ruins his clothes, please.''

''Well, fuck, babe,'' Dean drawls. ''That's already happened and you know it. I keep telling you, we should just let the kid run around naked, but you seem vehemently opposed to that for some reason.'' But he seems to realize that she's not kidding about wanting him gone, because he leans down to press a kiss to the side of her mouth, murmurs, ''Hearts in my eyes, Laur,'' and then he offers Oliver a sickeningly sweet smile, flutters his eyelashes at Tommy, declares, ''Laurel Lance's Husband Winchester out,'' and he's gone.

Tommy, giggling into his coffee, composes himself long enough to call after him, ''We should get drinks sometime!''

To which the response is, ''Goddamn it, Merlyn! My wife is right there! She can't know about us!''

''I'm sorry,'' Laurel is quick to say, tossing an apologetic smile in Oliver's direction. ''That was...'' She pauses, frowns and presses her lips together. ''Well, that was Dean. But I apologize for his behavior. He's not known for his tact, but still. He should've - ''

''No, it's fine,'' Oliver brushes it off. ''I wouldn't like me either if I were in his position.''

She doesn't argue with that, eyes downcast. When a particularly cold breeze blows through her hair, she noticeably shivers and rubs her hands up and down her arms to keep warm.

''Okay, I'm sorry,'' Tommy bursts out, interrupting Oliver before he can offer Laurel his jacket. ''But - ''

Dean cuts back into their conversation, sidling up to Laurel with his leather jacket hooked onto his index finger. He holds it out to her with a single arched eyebrow and she rolls her eyes, but doesn't hesitate to take it. ''Masochist,'' he coughs.

''Hero complex,'' she retorts.

He shrugs. ''I regret nothing.''

Tommy waits patiently until Dean is gone and Laurel is wrapped in the jacket before he continues. ''Are you seriously not going to tell us?''

She plasters on her most innocent expression. ''Tell you what?''

Oliver and Tommy look at each other. ''Why your dead husband is walking and talking and snarking,'' Oliver says.

She bites her lip. ''Well - ''

''Laurel!'' All eyes go to her brother-in-law, tapping his watch impatiently. ''You have ten minutes until your break is over! Come eat something!''

''I'll be right there!'' She turns back to Oliver and Tommy, pauses, seemingly thinking long and hard about how to answer their question, and then she just shrugs and says with a smile and a laugh, eyes shining with her very own secret. ''Like I said - it's a long story.''

.

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.

The long story is this:

Dean was in Purgatory.

...Huh. Okay, guess it wasn't that long.

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The _story_ is that one night Laurel comes home to a dark, empty apartment and doesn't know what to do with herself.

Jay is at her father's for the night for some much needed Grandpa & Grandson bonding time (also known as: let's use the precious kidlet to calm Grandpa down because Grandpa's going a little crazy lately), she has just driven a fairly tipsy Joanna home to sleep it off, Tommy is God knows where doing God knows what with God knows who, Oliver is _not_ an option, and Laurel...

Laurel is alone.

Normally, she would combat this feeling by crawling into bed and sleeping through it but she's not tired; still too keyed up from having to save Oliver and Tommy's damsel asses from Max Fuller and his dumbass grudge. She flicks on the lights and surveys her apartment. It's the same as it's always been. But it's quiet. And not the peaceful kind of quiet either. No, this is the 'to remind you that you are and forever will be alone' kind of quiet.

She sighs and takes a seat on the couch, taking off her heels and taking a few deep breaths to try and fight off the urge to go and get Jay just so she won't have to be alone anymore. It's times like these, swallowed by the silence, that she misses... She just_ misses. _She misses her mother, whose absence is always present, like a shadow, like a weight. She misses her husband, who never let her feel lonely for too long. She misses all of the friends she used to have, all edged out by grief and motherhood. She misses her sister. God, she misses Sara. Sara was many things, but silent was never one of them. She would be great to have around right now. If she were to see Laurel looking so sad and pathetic...

_Get up, _she would say. _I don't care what you do - have a glass of wine, take a bubble bath, play some music and sing along - just get up. Quit feeling sorry for yourself and get. Up. You are twenty seven years old and beautiful. You are far too young to be this old._

Laurel allows a quiet, choked sounding laugh to escape her lips and stares down at her wedding ring. It is not often that she allows herself to think this, but - yes. She_ is _too young for this. She is too young for all of this. But, sitting here, in her black dress, with her hair done and her makeup flawless, full of energy that she doesn't know how to burn, she has never felt older. She has never felt more like a widow.

She stands quickly. Shakes it off. She has to do something. Productivity is the key to coping. After a moment of careful deliberation, she decides to call Sam. It hasn't been that long since they talked - barely a week - but it couldn't hurt to just check in on him. Maybe see how that situation with Amelia resolved itself. The phone rings before she even reaches it. Laurel snatches it up, eternally grateful for the distraction. ''Hello?''

_''Laurel.''_

''Sam,'' she smiles softly, heading in the direction of the kitchen. ''Hey, I was just about to call you.''

_''Laurel, listen to me.''_

She stops dead in her tracks at the sound of his tense voice. ''Sam - ''

_''Something's about to happen,'' _he says, _''and I need you not to freak out.''_

Her body stiffens and her blood runs cold. Her mind conjures up about a thousand terrifying situations, each one bloodier than the one before. ''Sam, tell me what's happening.''

_''First and foremost, this is real. He's real.''_

She almost drops the phone.

_''I've done all the tests. Holy water, silver, borax. He's clean. I'm sorry about the short notice. I wanted to give you a more appropriate heads up and call you in the morning, but you know him. He just wanted to get to you.''_

She shakes her head. ''No.'' Her fingernails dig into her palm. She clutches the phone with a white knuckled grip. ''No, this isn't - It's not possible.''

_''I called you because I wanted to prepare you. I didn't want Jay to be scared.''_

She doesn't bother to tell him that Jay's not here. She's not sure she could if she wanted to. Her tongue feels thick and heavy and her pulse is pounding in her ears. She can't remember how to speak. She can barely remember how to breathe.

_''Laurel,''_ Sam says her name gently but firmly._ ''He's alive. Dean's alive.''_

There's a knock on her door.

Laurel spins around, eyes widening.

Sam says, _''Open the door, Laurel.''_

She has so many things to say. She has so many questions she needs the answers to. But she can't speak around the lump in her throat and the ache of overwhelming, crippling hope in her chest. She stumbles over to the door, clutching the phone weakly. She hesitates, just long enough to draw in a few ragged breaths. She thinks, _Open the damn door, Laurel. _She touches the cool doorknob and thinks of the cold, lonely feeling of being _without._

She opens the door.

The phone clatters noisily to the ground and she gasps, hands coming up to cover her mouth. Her vision blurs and she moves back on instinct, away from him, warmth flooding through her entire body.

Dean says, with a jaw clench and a crooked grin, ''Hi.''

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**end**

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**AN: I am now accepting prompts for this collection! And also: Happy 2014, everyone!**


	7. Relationship Tag (Part Two)

**Disclaimer: **I own none of the characters you recognize.

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**Underdogs Wednesdays**

_Written by Becks Rylynn_

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**Underdogs Wednesday #7: Relationship Tag #1 (Part Two)**

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**what they do for each other on holidays:**

Nothing special, really. They celebrate holidays, they do - she bakes something special for each holiday, he puts up lights at Christmas, they pick out a tree, they go to Charlie and Felicity's Halloween party every year, they go out to dinner and a movie on Valentine's Day, they attend Sam's Fourth of July barbeque, occasionally they'll even attend a New Year's Eve bash (although they prefer to spend New Year's Eve alone together and away from all the booze that NYE brings), and they even host Thanksgiving every other year - but they don't usually do anything incredibly special. For a lot of reasons. They're always incredibly busy, if not with work then with being all superhero-y, so they never really have time to plan anything big. And aside from that...

Well, they're not huge holiday people in general. Charlie starts putting up her Christmas decorations on the first of November and starts playing Christmas music daily in the Black Canary headquarters, Felicity is obsessed with Halloween, and Cas has taken a real shine to Thanksgiving, but Dean and Laurel... They're just not those people. Holidays bring a certain sense of melancholy and bitterness hidden behind the guise of family and love and cheer. Holidays just reminds them of the people they have lost. The people who should be here, but aren't.

However, with that said, there are times when they choose to fake it till they make it. For the year that Sin lived with them, they tried their damndest to make every holiday special. They brought out the holiday cheer big time and for that one year, every holiday was so over the top that Sin actually had to ask them to take it down a notch because their ugly Christmas sweaters were embarrassing her.

Once they have kids, they do manage to find a happy in between, in which they are able to give their kids great holidays and great memories, but they don't go completely overboard. (Except for when their kids are teenagers. Then they break out the ugly Christmas sweaters just to mess with them. It's their right as parents, after all.)

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**where did they go for their honeymoon:**

They didn't. They had a lovely wedding in the courthouse. She wore blue. He didn't wear a tie. Her parents were there, Sin was there, Sam, Cas and Charlie were there. It was nice. And they had _planned_ to take a week off and hole themselves up in a hotel room in Seattle, courtesy of Queen Consolidated because Oliver _so _owed her after what she did for him during what is now referred to as The Falafel Incident (not actually anything vigilante related, just a bad case of food poisoning at an embarrassing time), but unfortunately, that did not work out. That did not work out at all. They had their bags all packed. They were ready to go. They were super excited for a week off.

But then, naturally, Malcolm Merlyn decided to reveal his shocking not dead-ness to the entire city and it became an all hands on deck sort of situation, so the honeymoon was scrapped. For the greater good. Stupid greater good. Moira had made Oliver book a room at the Four Seasons. It was terrific incentive for Black Canary to rip Malcolm's face off, but seriously. Why couldn't he have waited just one more week? Their anger and frustration over their wasted honeymoon only intensified once Dean was laid up with a broken leg and Laurel was recovering from the concussion.

Eventually, though, they got over it and went on with their regular life. They got to spend some time alone while they were recovering from their injuries, that's enough, right? There are more important things than honeymoons.

Three years later, on their third anniversary, they were called to an emergency meeting at the clock tower._ Emergency at the base, we need you here ASAP, hurry, _turns out to be code for, _hey, we're forcing you on a very, very belated honeymoon, don't worry, we've got everything under control, if Black Canary is needed, Sin is totally ready to put on the wig._

Long story short, after her father threatened to arrest them both if they didn't _take a goddamn break, _they went to Maui for their honeymoon, where Dean spent the entire time grumbling because _I freckle_, Laurel, and Laurel spent the whole time not giving a fuck about his whining because she was in _Maui._

(And that's where their daughter was conceived also. Because, you know. Maui. It's a magical place. It's no Tahiti, but it's pretty darn awesome.)

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**where did they first meet:**

Technically, the first time they met was in downtown Starling City, outside of a coffee shop, when they ran into each other. Literally. She was heading inside, digging around in her huge, bottomless purse for her wallet; he was just leaving, holding a hot coffee and looking over his shoulder. Neither of them was paying attention. And boom. He got a chest full of hot coffee and the contents of her purse went everywhere. It wasn't as clichéd as it sounds. Honest. They both had other things to do - she was late for work, he was working a case - and they didn't really have time for romantic comedy-like cute meets. He helped her pick up her things, she bought him another coffee, and then they went their separate ways. Honestly, they didn't even remember each other when they eventually ran into each other again.

(This is a lie. Let's be real, folks. When he bent down to pick up a lipstick that had fallen out of her purse and was in the process of escaping, she...admired the view. Because she has eyeballs. And he watched her walk away. For a long time. Because he also has eyeballs.)

Their real first meeting was when she was mugged late one night in The Glades and he saved her. The first thing she did after he had subdued the attacker and called the police was critique his right hook. The second thing she did was inform him, very plainly, arms crossed, nose in the air, that she didn't need to be saved because she was handling it. And he was completely entranced.

He didn't stand a chance, really.

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**any pets:**

When they're on their own? No. No time.

When they have kids? Yes. Their kids make them get a puppy. She is this tiny yappy white fluffball who has absotively, posolutely zero social skills, quite clearly thinks she's better than everyone, and likes to be carried like a baby. She quickly becomes the kids' new best friend and she is spoiled rotten. Even Laurel, who was more hesitant about getting a dog than Dean, takes a shine to the dog and treats her like a freaking princess. Dean is adamant that he hates the noisy little thing. She's annoying, she's spoiled, she's loud, she's judgmental (yeah, that's right - the damn dog is judgmental) and she has accidents everywhere, okay? He is adamant. He doesn't like the dog.

People mostly believe him.

Until Laurel catches them taking a nap together one day, snaps a picture of them all cuddly and sends it to the entire family.

Dean pretty much drops all pretenses of hatred after that and starts giving Piper scraps from the table.

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**what do they fight over:**

Mutual recklessness and overprotectiveness. Hands down.

OH!

Actually, no. You know what they fight over more? Dean leaves the cap off the toothpaste and Laurel kicks in her sleep. These are the things that have caused some truly massive blow ups in their relationship.

Yeah, honestly, they work through the serious things quite well. They communicate. They talk. It's part of being in an adult relationship. They don't like leaving things unsaid because they don't want to fuck this up and they hate going to bed angry, so they deal with the serious issues and they learn to compromise. But when it comes to the toothpaste and the kicking? Watch out. One time, when she was pregnant, she got so angry with him because of the toothpaste thing that she threw not only the tube of toothpaste at his head, but also a bottle of mouthwash and a roll of toilet paper. Another time, before they were married, when they were still living in a rented apartment in the city, they got into a screaming match in the middle of the night and the landlord threatened to evict them. Both of these incidents resulted in make-up sex, but still. Toothpaste and Restless Leg Syndrome. That's what they fight about.

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**do they go on vacations, if so where:**

You think they have time for vacations?

_Please._

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**AN: For the record, Piper is real. She's my girl, she really does think she's better than everyone, and she does like to be carried like a baby. Most dogs hate being carried like a baby, but she refuses to be held if you're not going to put her on your hip like a baby and let her wrap one paw around your neck. It's adorable. But also a little disturbing. Because I don't think she realizes she's a dog. And I genuinely fear she may try to take over the world one day.**

**Next Week: An uber fluffy Jayverse so sweet it will give you cavities because I have a feeling we're going to need that. And the week after that will be a prompt fill.**


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